Nine Alone
by TheScarletOctopus
Summary: Field trip! The HA gang heads to London for a master class in Shakespeare. They're having the time of their lives-until they wake up one morning to find an inexplicably empty city. Can they figure out what's happening-and can they survive?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter story. Let me know if you think it's worth continuing.**

_Prologue: Solitude _

Tori Vega had never dreamed that she could hate silence so much.

Although singing was, of course, her passion, she had always appreciated the calming and healing effects absolute silence could bring. When she was younger, and a showering Trina's discordant attempts at show tunes echoed through the house, she would often close her bedroom door, slip on a pair of noise-cancelling earphones, and meditate, on her future, her friends, the nature of existence – whatever struck her fancy. It was peaceful, blissfully peaceful.

Now? She **loathed** the quiet. She would have given every cent she had for car horns honking, stereos blaring, street peddlers noisily trying to coax passing tourists into buying souvenirs they would discard the moment they got home. Anything to break the unrelenting stillness that hung over the city of London like a shroud.

It was some comfort to know that she wouldn't be alone too much longer. Jade and Beck were off foraging for food and supplies in the shops along Oxford Street, but they would be back before sunset; they always were. She almost hoped they would be arguing, so starved had she become for human interaction, even if it was vicarious. Andre, Robbie (plus Rex), and Sinjin were at their usual posts along the Thames, watching and listening for any signs of life. Trina was trying on clothes at Harrod's, but even a self-absorbed fashionista like her would grow tired of that eventually. As for Cat – she would be off in some park or back street, rolled up in a tight ball, sobbing. They had all offered words of comfort time and time again, but it did no good; the Vanishing had shattered her always fragile psyche. Sooner or later she would return, craving companionship, but it might not be for days. And Sikowitz was surely continuing his quixotic search for a coconut depot; he was already in the first stages of withdrawal, physically shaky and emotionally snappish. They could scarcely afford to lose him; for all his quirkiness, he had stepped up to the plate and showed genuine leadership in the aftermath of the Vanishing. Without his glue to keep them together, there was no telling what might happen.

Meanwhile, thanks to a mixture of her own carelessness and horribly poor luck, Tori was stuck at their home base, nursing a throbbing leg that, without medical attention, might never heal properly – or at all. Andre and Beck, gentlemen that they were, had offered to stay with her, but she insisted that they not break from their daily routine; she was determined that her foolish mistake wouldn't prove to be the ruin of the entire group. She still felt that she had made the right decision, but right at this moment, she desperately longed for Andre's warm embrace to comfort her and his rich voice murmuring in her ear.

She stared out the window of Leighton House into the garden – beautiful as ever, but already showing hints of descending into wildness after weeks without tending or weeding. A soft rain, barely more than a mist, had begun to fall.

_A month,_ she thought. An entire month since their little group had inexplicably become – so far as they knew – the last human beings on the face of the Earth.

A shiver ran through her. The English summer had been uncharacteristically tenacious this year, and the group had enjoyed a long period of relative warmth; but autumn would no longer be denied, and a chill afternoon wind was blowing from the river. She pulled her shawl tightly about herself and sighed.

She could not help but think back on how it all began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Victorious**_**, and I have no money, so suing me would be a terrible waste of time and effort.**

_Four months earlier_

"**T**ell me why I shouldn't smack you!"

"**U**nbelievable, that's what you are!"

"**V**ery big words from someone who chases after other girls' boyfriends!"

"**W**hy do you always have to bring that up?"

"Er…um…_crud_…**x**eriscaping is very important to…"

"Sorry, Jade, but you took too long. Tori is our winner!" The class gave a round of desultory applause as Tori and a distinctly bitter-looking Jade returned to their seats.

"Now, then. The most important thing you will ever learn about acting in your entire lives is that-"

The jarring noise of the bell broke into Sikowitz's monologue. "Oh, well. Guess I'll have to save it for another day. Tori, André, Jade, Beck, Cat, Robbie – stay for a moment, if you would."

Those were not words Tori wanted to hear, and the five groans from around the room told her that her feelings were universally shared.

"Oh, don't be like that! What's with all the glum faces?" Sikowitz was even peppier than usual today.

"Well," said André reluctantly, "it's just that, y'know, the _last_ time you had us all stay after class, we wound up dressing like food and singing a stupid kiddie song that almost cost me a recording contract. I'd really rather not have to go through that again."

"But you made money! And Cat had fun!"

"I got beaten up! And my broccoli was all torn!" cried Cat.

"Well, I took quite the mauling myself, but you don't see _me_ crying about it, do you? Anyway, what I want to talk to you about now is in no way kindergartner-related. Scout's honor."

"_You_ were in the Boy Scouts?" Jade raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I think so. That whole period of my life is awfully vague. I think it came from drinking all those poison sumac smoothies…"

"Get me out of this room, Rob!" cried Rex from inside Robbie's backpack.

"Hush, puppet!" snapped Sikowitz. "If you keep up _that_ attitude, you and Robbie won't get the chance to go to…LONDON!"

Their jaws dropped. "Are you kidding me?" said Tori. "London? As in London, England?"

"No, my dear, I meant London, Botswana. Of **course** London, England!"

"Yay! " Cat bounced up and down, clapping her hands. André pumped his fist. Robbie and Beck exchanged high-fives. Even Jade allowed the ghost of a smile to appear on her lips, although she squelched it as soon as she noticed Tori looking in her direction.

"You see," said Sikowitz, "I have a friend in the RSC-"

"What's-" began Tori.

"Royal Shakespeare Company, you bubblehead," Jade cut in.

"There's no such word as 'bubblehead'!"

"A-**hem.** As I was saying: I have a friend in the RSC who gives a two week-long class at the Globe Theatre every August on performance techniques in Elizabethan and Jacobean drama. A group from the University of Exeter was supposed to attend this year, but they had to drop out, so he got in touch with me to see whether I'd like to bring along some of my most gifted students. I've already spoken to Helen, and Hollywood Arts will be happy to cover your travel and lodging expenses…_if _you're interested, that is." He winked.

"Sounds awesome!" said Tori. "Two whole weeks in one of the greatest cities in the world, and no Trina around to pester me!"

"Um…yes. About that…" Sikowitz's face flushed, and he began to rock back and forth from foot to foot nervously.

Tori's face fell. "Oh, no. _Why,_ Sikowitz?"

"Well, I think she's got a great deal of untapped promise. Plus she threatened to slash my tires."

Jade struck her face with her palm. "_You don't own a car_."

"Why, that's right! I probably should have thought of that before I gave her my promise in writing. Oh, and Sinjin will also be accompanying us."

Robbie, ignoring Jade's furious cursing behind him, said, "But Sinjin's tech crew. He doesn't even _act_. What's he going to do there?"

"Whatever he likes, I imagine. And in return, he'll burn all those incriminating photos of me!"

The whole group stared at him in bewilderment.

"Oh. Nothing to worry about. It was a youthful indiscretion. Let's, um, let's just say that vodka and camels don't mix. Anyway, I'll get you the trip details as soon as I can. Now scoot, my younglings! Scoot!"

As they filed out of the classroom, André turned to smile at Tori. "Isn't this cool, muchacha? It's like the opportunity of a lifetime!"

"I know! I can't _wait_ to-"

She stopped in her tracks. Somewhere in her brain – not in her conscious mind, but deep down, at the instinct-driven core of her being – a terrible foreboding arose. There flashed before her eyes, quickly as a single frame of a film, a vivid tableau: she was alone, in darkness, in the rain, weeping, with tall, empty buildings looming over her as if about to pounce.

"Tori?" André's brown eyes clouded with concern. "What's wrong, girl?"

"No-nothing. Just kinda spaced out for a second."

It was silly, she knew. She had no intention of throwing away this chance because of an irrational premonition. But even three months later, as she sat in the jet winging its way through the night sky over the Atlantic – Robbie and Rex volleying insults, Jade sulking because she hadn't been allowed to bring scissors on board, Cat fussing and squirming in her seat like a two-year-old as the stewardess tried to shush her, André dozing next to her – she couldn't shake the feeling that this journey would come to no good end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still don't own **_**Victorious.**_** Wish I did. But I don't. Crud.**

_Present Day_

André Harris was committing dereliction of duty, and he wasn't the least bit sorry about it, either.

His assignment was perfectly clear; find a suitable vantage point on the south bank of the Thames (though along this stretch of the river it was more a matter of west-east than north-south) and watch for ships, planes, vehicular traffic, pedestrians – any sign of a human presence. He had spent the morning foraging while Beck kept vigil; they traded places at noon, just as they had done every day for the past two weeks, with the same monotonous regularity as the changing of the Queen's Guard before Buckingham Palace in the days before the Vanishing.

And it was all pointless. Completely and utterly pointless.

Everyone in the group realized this, although, with the exception of Jade-who had refused to let this crisis curb her habit of brutal honesty-no one was willing to acknowledge it openly. Whenever Jade suggested that their time could be better spent, that they weren't going to find anyone else in London and they might as well abandon the city, settle somewhere in the Midlands, and set to work growing their own food, Tori, or Sikowitz, or André himself would quickly shout her down. Of _course_ they would find others. It was _absurd_ to think that only nine people (ten, insisted Robbie, clutching Rex tightly) could be left in a city that had been home to millions. All Jade was doing was damaging group morale with her defeatism.

What a load of crap. She was perfectly right. He had been suspected as much from the start, but somehow he always found something to keep a tiny flame of hope burning. _No planes overhead – that's weird…but maybe somebody ordered them to keep clear of London airspace or something. No trains running…probably just because of the power outage._

Then came the day that he accompanied Sikowitz on a reconnaissance. They headed south and east in a Land Rover they had found abandoned near St. Paul's, through the East End, out of London, and then on to the seacoast. The Channel was empty. Not a ship or a boat in sight. The view was perfectly clear, all the way to France. And he knew then, with a sudden, bleak certainty, that no matter where they went, they would never see another human being for the rest of their lives.

Still, when he was with the others he kept up a brave front, more out of habit now than anything else. It came naturally to him. Growing up with parents who saw him as little more than an interesting diversion in between business trips, he had been raised and cared for by his grandmother; but as her schizophrenia worsened, it became he who had to take care of her. Bearing a burden heavier than any teenager should have to, he learned very quickly to hide his private suffering behind a broad, unwavering smile. Only when he was all alone would he finally allow the mask to drop, and say to himself, _Christ, I'm sick and tired of having to be the strong one. Once, just once, I want to be allowed to admit defeat._

Which was precisely why André had thrown in the towel after only an hour and a half of watching empty space and the ceaseless flow of water, and had left his seat at one of the tables of an outdoor café to wander aimlessly through the streets of south London.

Every bone and muscle in his body wanted desperately to hurry back to Leighton House, to Tori. Being forced to leave her by herself was agonizing. But Tori was fiercely proud – in which respect she was much like Jade, he thought with a tiny smile, though neither girl would ever admit it – and she repeatedly insisted that she would be fine on her own. To go back to her now would be to make her feel useless, as if she had become a load on the group the moment she injured her leg.

No going west yet, then – so he went east, along Lambeth Road. The setting sun warmed his back, but swiftly gathering clouds ahead hinted that rain, and early autumn cold with it, couldn't be too far off.

A sign on a fence caught his eye – _Imperial War Museum, 500 meters._ He remembered seeing something about this in his guidebook; it was supposed to be some sort of repository of the last hundred and fifty-odd years of British military history. Tanks and fighter jets weren't normally his cup of tea, but at the moment he didn't much care; in fact, he was tempted by the idea of seeing something completely different-maybe it would give him a temporary respite from the dull apathy that was seeping farther through his body with each passing day.

The museum was set back on a hillside, separated from the street by a grassy expanse. As he walked up he caught sight of a huge piece of naval artillery that stood in front of the main building. He wasn't normally dirty-minded, but this long, slender steel cannon protruding into the air all but begged for a Freudian interpretation. _Compensating for somethin', huh?_ he thought, and, to his pleasant surprise, an actual laugh emerged from his lips, for the first time in many days.

And then he stopped dead in his tracks.

The museum door had been forced open.

A flood of desperate hope overwhelmed him, and he broke into a run. Sprinting through the foyer into the main exhibition hall, he cried at the top of his lungs, "Hello! Is anybody in here?"

No answer.

He paused a moment to catch his breath and study his surroundings. The hall was packed to the gills with all manner of military equipment: machine guns, tanks, armored personnel carriers, World War I-era biplanes, a small submarine, and even a Polaris missile, pointed at the ceiling as if ready at any moment to launch and wreak destruction. And in the midst of it all, incongruously, a small wooden rowboat.

From the spot where he stood, he couldn't see inside it. But now, as he strained his ears, he could hear a sound coming from it – a soft crying, gentle as the wind skimming through willow branches.

He approached, and caught a glimpse of hair the color of red velvet cupcakes. His heart flooded with pity and sorrow.

"Oh, Cat…"

She turned slowly to look at him. Her eyes were red, her face tear-streaked. She wore only a yellow tank top and denim shorts; her feet were bare, covered with scratches and mud. He couldn't begin to guess how long it had been since she had last eaten.

When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse, and so quiet that he could barely distinguish the words. "I lost Mr. Longneck."

"Your giraffe?"

She nodded. "I put him down somewhere, and then I thought I heard a noise, and I got scared and started running, and when I stopped I couldn't remember where I left him, and I went back to look, but all the streets looked the same, and I got confused, and…" Without warning, her slow tears changed into violent sobbing. Her whole tiny body convulsed, and she began to wail.

He bent down and embraced her; she buried her head in the crook of his neck. "Cat, sweetheart, you need to come back with me. Tori and everybody else, they've been worried sick about you."

"I…I don't think I can walk."

"No worries, Lil' Red. I'll carry you until we find a car we can take." Hotwiring automobiles was a skill he had only recently mastered; Jade had taught the entire group. No one dared to ask where _she_ had acquired the knowledge.

He swept her up in his arms. "Why did you come here?"

"I read…about the little boat…it said that way back in 1940, when all the British soldiers were trapped in France and the Germans were going to get them, a whole bunch of boats like this one crossed the Channel to get the soldiers and ferry them back home to England…and I thought, maybe if I stayed in it long enough, I would be able to cross the ocean and go home too…But we're not going to get home, are we? Not ever."

He opened his mouth, ready to spout all the comforting lies he could muster. _Of course we will, kiddo. It's just a matter of time. There are other people left out there. Somebody will come looking for us._ But something in her lonely eyes, something that pleaded for truth, stopped him, and he realized he no longer had the heart to pretend.

"No, Cat. I don't think so. This is our home now."

"Thank you for being honest with me," she whispered, and drifted off to sleep.

As he laid her in the back seat of a convertible, he watched her chest rising and falling with each breath, and thought about the future. It would be a hard task, making a new life for themselves in this empty world; everyone would have to give their best, him included. _Maybe I can still be strong after all_, he thought. _For Cat. For Tori. For everyone. Just a little longer_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Don't own. Also, please review if you'd like. All feedback is much appreciated.**

_One month earlier: August 18, 11:45 P.M._

Trina examined her cards thoughtfully, chewing on her lower lip as she did so. "I'll…um…see you, and raise you five."

"I'm in," said Beck.

"Me too," said Jade. Everyone looked at Cat expectantly.

"Nope, I don't have any fives. Go Fish! Tee hee hee!"

They groaned.

"Okay, somebody remind me _why_ we let her play again?"

Beck put a warning finger to Jade's lips. "You promised you'd play nice on this trip, remember?"

"Yeah, I gotta stop making promises I can't keep."

They should all have been in bed long ago. It had been a day at once enjoyable and exhausting, as Sikowitz's friend explained to them the intricacies of gesture and body language on the Elizabethan stage, and then gave them free rein to practice all afternoon. They had all gotten into the spirit of it to one degree or another, but Beck – calm, collected Beck – had surprised everyone by turning out to be the biggest ham of them all, sweeping his arms about melodramatically, sinking to his knees to cry "Oh, why must thou treat me so, cruel Heaven?" and then collapsing in a mock faint. Tori thought she had never laughed so hard in her entire life.

Tomorrow was Friday: stage combat day. While Tori still felt a lingering nervousness from the last time she had crossed swords (so to speak) with Jade in a stage fight, back in her first days at Hollywood Arts, she was certain that this time would be better. _Everything_ was better here, somehow. The late summer English air enriched her with every breath, filled her with a vibrancy she had never thought possible. She could hardly believe she had ever had such silly forebodings about this trip.

Still, waving a wooden broadsword around for eight hours tomorrow was going to require all her reserves of physical energy. She had planned to make it an early night, she really had – but somehow, here she was, at nearly midnight, in a crowded hotel room, sitting on a bed beside André, munching caramel popcorn and giggling while four of her friends went at it in a seemingly endless poker game. Robbie was sprawled on the bed opposite, picking at his guitar, while Rex ogled the Page Three girl in the _Sun_ (_did he have _any_ sense of shame at all? _Tori wondered.) Of their little group, only Sinjin was nowhere to be found; not being obliged to attend the workshop thanks to his blackmail scheme, he instead had thrown himself full tilt into the London club scene, and didn't usually stumble back to the hotel until three or four in the morning. Maybe, she thought wryly, Sikowitz would be able to get ahold of some incriminating pictures of _him_ before the trip was over. _Gotta love karma…_

A sudden thunderclap jarred her from her reverie. "Was it supposed to rain tonight?"

"Not that I heard." André went to the window to look out. "It's not even rainin' _now_. I don't know where that thunder's comin' from, and I haven't seen any lightning either-"

As if in mocking reply, a great fiery bolt of purplish light forked across the sky from east to west. At the edge of his vision, it branched into five long fingers which looked ready to seize the moon and crush it into dust. It was followed, scarcely half a second later, by a deep roar that rattled the glass in the window-frame. Cat shrieked and leapt onto a bed to cover herself with a blanket, pushing a baffled Robbie to the floor in the process.

"Jesus!" said Jade. "How are we supposed to get any sleep with _that_ going on?"

"I'm sure it'll quit soon." Tori was trying to convince herself as much as the others. "Really violent storms like this tend to exhaust themselves quickly."

The instant the last word had left her lips, the entire world shook. Purple streams of electricity zig-zagged and criss-crossed all over the night sky, making a hellish patchwork quilt that flooded the hotel room with an eerie, wan light. The thunder that followed was so ferocious, and lasted so long, that Tori feared her eardrums would burst.

"Don't you _ever_ get tired of being wrong, Vega?" Jade screamed over the din. Cat burrowed deeper into the bedclothes.

And then, as suddenly as the uproar had begun, it ended. The sky was dark and cloudless; the moon, no longer threatened, resumed its solitary vigil. Quiet descended on the streets of the sleeping city.

No one dared to speak at first, for fear of tempting the storm to renew itself. At last Beck muttered, "Well, _that_ was sure fun, wasn't it?"

Robbie began trying desperately to coax Cat out from in between the sheets. "It's okay, sweetheart. The storm's gone. Nobody's going to hurt you."

"If you're scared, why don't you just do like Robbie, and pee your pants?" Rex snarked. With uncharacteristic fury, Robbie backhanded him across the face. "Ow, man!" cried the puppet as he tumbled over. "Can't we all just get along?"

Tori remained silent and unmoving. The brief premonition she had felt the day Sikowitz announced the trip had returned now, more vivid than before. Alone. Alone and scared. That was how she was going to die. That was how they _all _were going to die, one after the other.

André returned from the window and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "You don't look too good, Tor. You really should pack it in for the night. We all should."

"Yeah," she replied absently, gazing into the middle distance, her mind wholly occupied by her horrific vision. "We should all go."

She was certain the fear inside her would never permit her to fall asleep, but in fact her weariness mastered her completely the moment her head touched the pillow in her own room. The same proved to be true for all the others, even the terrified and trembling Cat (though she was helped by Robbie's agreeing to stay beside her that night). So deeply did they sleep that they were completely unaware of it when, at precisely 3:45 A.M. Greenwich Mean Time, every electric light in London flickered and died.

And then, every light on the planet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: don't own.**

_Present Day_

"I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty, and witty, and gay…"

_Lies. You're not pretty, Katrina Alexis Vega. You're an ugly, talentless, worthless hag, and no one will ever love you. Throw yourself in the river and take a burden off everyone else's shoulders._

"Quiet! Be quiet! You're not real! Get out of my head!"

_You know that's not going to happen. I'll be with you always. And there's only one way you can silence me. Do it. Do it now. The water is waiting for you._

"SHUT UP!" Trina lashed out with her fist, striking the central pane of the triple full-length mirror before which she was standing. The glass fractured in a web around the spot where her knuckles struck, splitting the reflection of her face into ill-fitting shards like a Picasso painting. The crash reverberated, loud as a gunshot in the complete silence, through the empty, darkened department store.

After a moment, she looked down and realized she had cut her hand badly. Blood dripped from her palm onto the ill-fitting Manolo Blahniks she had been trying on. _Well, that was pretty damn stupid, wasn't it? _she thought. _ No doctors anymore, and you go and mess yourself up. At least Tori has clumsiness as an excuse; you've got nobody to blame but your own temper. _

And the voice, seizing its chance, broke in: _Told you you're a bumbling idiot. Even __**you**__ admit it._

Oh, how she hated that voice. It had been with her for as long as she could remember, whispering at her in her most vulnerable moments, laying bare her deepest insecurities. She knew it was the product of depression, but she staunchly refused to take medication; that would be an admission of weakness, and Trina Vega would never let herself be weak. Instead she masked the pain with a spectacular outward show of ebullience, self-confidence, even shallow narcissism, all in the hope that one day the mask would mold to her face, and she would really _believe_ that she was the best – or at least, not the worst – that the world had to offer.

It didn't work.

This trip was a last-ditch effort to drown out the voice. A change of setting, the company of friends – or at least people who generally tolerated her – and every spare minute spent shopping: if anything could pull her out of the dark morass, she thought, it was this. But the Vanishing had ruined everything, forever.

She wondered whether any of the rest of them knew where she was right now.

She wondered whether they even cared.

Beside her was a tall unwieldy pile of clothes plundered from the racks: blouses and skirts, dresses and pantsuits, sweaters and scarves. She certainly had enough time to try them all on if she wanted – time was the one thing that would never be lacking in this strange new existence. At first, she had gone into one of the changing rooms, before it dawned on her that there was no need to worry about privacy any more. Now, as she stood in the open in a camisole and black slacks, she realized the corollary of that earlier thought: there was no one to look at her, no one who would admire her, praise her fashion sense, tell her she was beautiful. Only eight other people were left alive, and none of them would ever think highly of her, even if she donned the most costly clothes and slathered herself with the most expensive perfumes that the Oxford Street shopping district had to offer. Because they all knew who she really was, and what she was like inside.

Everyone else had already begun to pair off, knowing, even if they wouldn't say it aloud, that they were going to have to reproduce if humanity were to survive. Jade and Beck were, of course, joined at the hip, now more than ever. Tori and André were nearly there; Trina couldn't be too bitter about that – she wanted her sister to be cared for, after all, and Andre was a good and kind man – but it still felt to her like just one more instance of Jacob beating out Esau. Robbie only had eyes for Cat, and she would probably reciprocate his feelings if she ever recovered from the emotional trauma she had suffered. And Trina herself was left with – what? Sinjin? Not the most pleasant thought. _Sikowitz?_ God, what a horrible fate. And if it came to that, _they_ would probably reject _her_ before she ever had the chance to express her disgust.

No. She would be alone. As she always was.

The slacks strained at her thighs; she had deliberately chosen a size she knew was too small. _I am _not_ fat. I'll show them. _Her thoughts were desperate now, and shrill. _ I'll be slender, slender and lovely like Tori, and they'll adore me like they do her. It can still happen. I still have a chance._

And then the voice: _Who are you trying to fool, you pathetic tub of lard?_

Kicking off her shoes, she knocked over the pile of clothes, but her anger wasn't yet satisfied. As white, featureless mannequins watched impassively, Trina went on a rampage, striking everything in sight, smashing cash registers, hurling coatracks like spears, screaming like a banshee the whole time. Only when her last ounce of energy was gone did she sink down exhausted at the top of the escalator and begin to weep.

_All right, voice. I've had enough. You win. Maybe I won't even have to go find a bridge. There's so many other ways. Hell, one of those glass shards, and my wrists…it would be so easy, and-_

_Did something just_ move_?_

She snapped momentarily to attention, then sagged again. _It's gotta be a trick of the light._ Over the past month, the group had learned to adjust quite well to the absence of artificial lighting, but even so the dimness and shadows were still prone to toy with their vision, eliciting false hopes that someone was there only to dash them just as swiftly.

But then it happened again.

She was certain now. In the menswear department, at the other end of the floor, there was something moving. She could make out no features, nor anything more than a general shape; but it was standing upright, and roughly the same height as a man.

Joy and hope gave her a fresh influx of strength. She clambered to her feet and raced along the darkened walkway. "Hello? Is somebody there? Wait! I want to talk to you!"

When she was close enough to catch some sunlight through a window, she was at last able to discern details – and she stopped dead. Something was wrong, very wrong. The thing might have the height and proportions of a human being, but there the resemblance stopped. Limbs, a neck, a face – all were missing. It resembled nothing so much as a jade-green, vaguely phosphorescent six-foot-high obelisk – yet it still gave some sense of life, if not necessarily intelligence. More unsettlingly still, now that there was enough light for her to focus her eyes on the thing, she found that she could not; for it was not perfectly solid. Instead it wavered and flowed about, phasing seemingly at will from liquid to gas to…what? Energy? Void? It was impossible to tell. Every now and then purple streaks would appear about its girth, whirl in circles like planets orbiting a sun, then break their orbits, strike one another, and vanish again.

"Who…what _are _you?" she whispered.

The thing began to move toward her. It was not a continuous motion, as walking, gliding, or even floating would have been; instead it seemed to briefly flicker out of existence entirely, and then reappear a few inches closer to her, over and over again.

It was at that moment that a new voice appeared in her head. Not the dark voice that kept pushing her toward self-destruction, but a voice of warning, which she somehow knew that she could, indeed must, trust. And this voice said:

_Run, Trina Vega. Run for your life._

Without hesitating, she turned and leapt to one side; and just as she did so, a great electric tendril whipped out of the front surface of the obelisk and struck the spot where she had been standing, generating a sharp crackle and the searing odor of ionized air. Panicked now, she broke into a sprint, leaving the aisle, dodging from side to side, weaving in between the clothes racks in the hope that she might lose the pursuing thing. But it followed her wherever she went, moving slowly but relentlessly, always in perfectly straight lines. Nothing could block its path; when it encountered an obstacle, it simply flickered out on the far side, then reappeared on the near side without altering its pace at all.

Trina ran like a madwoman. _This thing is going to kill me. I don't know why, but it wants me dead. And I don't want to die._

_Wait. I really and truly __**don't want to die.**_

_And dammit, I won't. Not today. _Filled now with ferocious determination – and, for the first time in a very long while, hope – she picked up speed.

At last she found a fire door leading to an emergency staircase. She nearly tripped over her own feet as she barreled down three flights of stone steps, pushed open the panic bar on the exit door, and raced out into the fading sunlight. Each time she gulped in breath, the chill air seared her lungs, and her vision flashed red as the wind struck her face full on; but she forced herself to push past the pain.

When she was almost to the end of the block, she at last dared to turn and look back. Stillness, as far as she could see. Whatever the thing was, it seemed to have given up the hunt, at least for now. She bent over, gasping, but exultant.

"What the hell happened to _you?_"

Trina whirled, astonished, to find a no less befuddled Jade and Beck staring at her.

"Um…hey, guys. It's…kind of a weird story…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own neither **_**Victorious **_**nor **_**EastEnders**_**.**

_One month earlier: August 19, 3:40 A.M._

It was (to be perfectly frank) nothing short of a miracle that Sinjin Van Cleef was still upright and conscious. He had begun drinking as soon as the sun went down, and, with very few breaks, continued until ten minutes ago, when he was forcibly thrown out of the seediest pub in London for making several untoward remarks about the Queen's sexual proclivities. Now, as he staggered through Trafalgar Square like a poorly operated marionette, he had a vague sense that he might be taking the whole "London nightlife" thing a bit too far.

Not surprisingly, Sinjin was having immense difficulty piecing together anything like a coherent thought. Words, phrases, images drifted out of his mental fog, and he snatched at them, grabbing a few but letting the majority slip away. _Nice night – warm air – hard to see – stomach hurts – hotel…this way? That way? Some way. Doesn't really matter…Stupid Jade and her restraining order…Miss my sound mixing board…_

A vagrant was relieving himself at the base of the equestrian statue of Charles I. Sinjin made a slurred protest. "Hey, man! You shouldn't…shouldn't do that. Iznot…iznot respectful, izwhut I'm tryin' to say..."

The only response was a harsh bark of "Bugger off!" _Geez, try to be polite, and look what it gets you…my feet hurt…somebody took my watch again…must have been one of those Walford girls, they're worse than Northridge…_

Normally he would have displayed more self-control in his drinking, at least after midnight, but the bizarre thunderstorm-that-wasn't of a few hours earlier had completely unnerved him. Even though he had insulated himself from the memory with the formidable barrier of several pints of dark ale, subconsciously he still knew that what London had witnessed was more than just a freak weather phenomenon. There was a change in the air, a fundamental shift in the very nature of the world just waiting to happen, and he knew that he couldn't hope to cope with it. _God, I don't know what to do…so tired…just want to go home…please, someone, take me home…_

He was lurching down Charing Cross Road now, so lost in his half-formed thoughts that he failed to notice the muscular man with the twisted half-grin who had stepped out of the recess of a shop entrance to block his path.

"Had a rough night, then, mate?"

"This…thisiza great town you guys got here…so much to see…"

"It is a wonderful city, isn't it? And we like to welcome visitors, really we do. Of course, in return for our hospitality, a certain tip is always appreciated. For example, everything in your wallet?"

"Thassa pretty big tip, isn't it? Don't know 'bout that…doesn't sound right…"

"It sounds perfectly right to me."

Even in his stupor, Sinjin could hear the flick of the switchblade, and could feel, with frightening clarity, the sharp point pressing on his ribs. The man was expert with his weapon, keeping the pressure just below the threshold that would drive it into Sinjin's skin. "You don't want me to hurt you, now do you, mate? A few quid isn't worth dying for. Just hand over your wallet, and I'll be out of your way, yeah?"

Sinjin wanted to flee, but his legs refused to obey him. "I don't…I don't have any money…"

"Of course you don't." All the feigned affability vanished from the man's voice. "You're really trying my patience, you little arsewipe. Money now, or you bleed."

The streetlights went out.

"Bloody hell, what-"

Every muscle in the man's body constricted at once. His head snapped backward so that his eyes were fixed on the sky, and his mouth opened wide, as if he wanted desperately to scream but could not. The veins on his hands and in his neck bulged outward until Sinjin genuinely believed that they would burst. A slow trickle of blood began to ooze from his nostrils and ears.

And then, in a burst of green and purple light, he was gone, dissipated into the air as completely as if he had never been.

The knife clattered to the sidewalk at Sinjin's feet.

For a long moment, he was completely and totally at a loss. Should he feel astonishment? Horror? Even relief at his inexplicable rescue? He wasn't entirely sure, but he felt as though he should have _some_ reaction, at least; it was only proper. Nothing doing, though. His brain responded to the enormity of what he had just witnessed by simply shutting itself down, obstinately refusing to process any information.

Then that last desperate defense mechanism crumbled, and it hit.

This wasn't a drunken hallucination.

This wasn't a nightmare.

This was real.

He fell to his knees and was violently sick in the gutter. When he tried to rise to his feet, he found that he was too weak. So, giving in to the inevitable, he rested his head as comfortably as he could on the pavement, and slipped into unconsciousness, with only two thoughts echoing in his brain. One was a question—_Why didn't that light take me too?—_and it would be a very long time indeed before he got an answer. The other was a wish: _I hope nobody else bothers me tonight._

Nobody did.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **_**Victorious **_**is owned by Dan Schneider; "Green Grow the Rushes, O" is owned by Robert Burns (who, having died 215 years ago, is unlikely to sue – but it never hurts to take precautions).**

_Present Day_

Beck Oliver considered himself a patient man, and he certainly knew that all his friends saw him as such. But right at this moment, he was truly down to his last nerve.

Ever since he and Jade had blundered into Trina, the obviously panicked girl had not. Stopped. Talking. Not for a moment. He hadn't thought he would ever find someone who could outdo Cat in the chatterbox department – but then, this trip had been nothing if not full of surprises.

"So, I'm thinking it could have been an alien, maybe, or a ghost, or a thing from another dimension – there are other dimensions besides the ones we can see, right? I read that somewhere – or a robot, some kind of machine – I'm not sure it could think for itself, not really, it was more like it was following somebody else's instructions – I don't know why I'm saying that, it's just a guess – but it's okay to guess, right? I mean, we need to figure out what it was if we're going to fight it, don't we? I wish I had a gun. Well, maybe not – I've never fired a gun, and I don't know if I would be any good at it; my dad always says – said – that 'they pack a hell of a recoil,'" (she imitated her father's deep voice) "and it's gotta be worse for me than for most people, because I've already got carpal tunnel syndrome. And the bullets might just pass through it anyway – or through _them,_ if there's more than one – oh, God, what a scary thought…"

"Trina!" Beck let go of the shopping cart crammed with tinned goods that he was pushing and turned to face the older girl. "Could you _please_ just-"

He stopped; for he saw her eyes now, for the first time. While there was worry in them, there was also determination, and the crackling energy of someone whose mind is racing too quickly for the rest of the body to keep pace. _She thinks out loud, _he realized._ That's how she operates. She's _not_ babbling – she's planning, mapping contingencies. We should _all_ be doing that right now._

_I've sorely underestimated you, Trina Vega._

Jade, apparently, was not so forgiving. "I swear to God, Vega, one more word out of your mouth and this can of baked beans is going where the sun don't shine-"

Beck quickly seized her wrist. "Calm down, baby. Trina, why don't you hold off until the whole group can hear what you have to say? It's important that we all know what we're dealing with."

"Okay, okay. You're the voice of reason, as usual." Her countenance relaxed into an almost-smile – then instantly hardened again as her eyes locked on Jade. "Did you call me 'Vega'? I thought that was your name for Tori, not me."

"Yeah, true. Okay, from now she's 'Vega', you're 'Vega Junior', how's that sound?"

" 'Junior'? I'm the _older_ sister!"

"Words cannot express how little I care."

They resumed their forward march, Jade and Trina bickering all the way. Beck's stomach had begun to growl terribly, but he couldn't honestly say that he was looking forward to dinner. Without electricity, natural gas, refrigeration, or even running water, culinary options were becoming increasingly limited. Fortunately, they had found a community garden that would supply their need for fresh vegetables for the time being; but meat, for one, was only a memory. The lack of readily available citrus fruits also worried Beck; vitamin C deficiency and scurvy would become a problem before too long, and once their immune systems were compromised, there was no telling what sicknesses might follow. He silently vowed to find a pharmacy tomorrow-a _chemist's_, he instantly corrected himself-and scour the shelves for multivitamin supplements.

Trina had brought up another difficulty: weapons. They'd never bothered to arm themselves before – with no living creature in (at minimum) a fifty-mile radius, self-defense had seemed a non-issue – but they could no longer afford to be so careless.

Maybe, in some strange way, this would be good for them all. As interpersonal tensions grew and squabbles became more frequent over the last couple of weeks, Beck had begun to fear that their little group was losing cohesion; nothing would put a stop to that as effectively as the need to face a common enemy. If nothing else, no one would ever have the luxury of wandering off on his or her own again, and…

_Oh, no._

"Tori."

Jade snorted angrily. "What _about_ Little Miss Perfect? Are you _daydreaming_ about her now?"

"We left her alone, and she's injured. If that thing comes after her, she won't stand a chance. We need to get back to base. Now."

"Oh, my God," said Trina. She broke into a jog, then, realizing Beck and Jade were slowed down by pushing their heavy loads, turned back and snapped, "_Leave_ the damn food for now! We can come back for it in the morning!"

"Oh, fine! I don't mind starving!" Jade made a great show, as she abandoned her cart in the middle of the road, of being irritated at the disruption to their routine. But Beck, who knew her as well as she knew herself, could sense the genuine fear she was feeling; and once she began to run, he and Trina suddenly found themselves hard put to keep up.

Too breathless to speak now, they passed silent, lightless houses, forlorn bus shelters strewn with rain-soaked newspapers, and long stone walls which seemed, in the swiftly gathering darkness, to conceal any number of horrors. Never before had the candles burning in the windows of Leighton House been so welcome a sight.

Beck threw open the front door and cried, "Tori? Are you all right?" _Please, God…_

To the surprise of all three of them, it was the soft, steady voice of André that responded: "We're in here."

They went through into the remarkable room known as the Arab Hall. The house's first owner and namesake, Lord Leighton, was a passionate lover of all things Eastern, and he had decorated this space with marble columns, painted tiles, and an extravagant golden chandelier, to match the homes he had visited in his journeys through Syria and the Levant. In the center of the mosaic that covered the floor was a recess for a fountain – inoperable now, of course, but still peaceful and comforting to look upon. By unspoken common consensus, it had become, the very first day they settled here, the "hearth" around which they all would gather when serious matters needed to be discussed.

A great window on the north wall was covered with metal latticework that permitted only a few streaks of red twilight to fall on the cushioned window seat before it. Here, surrounded by candles, were Tori and André – Tori lying down with her head in André's lap, he sitting upright and stroking her hair. And he was singing to her – a beautiful tune, at once sweet as silk and painfully melancholy:

"_Green grow the rushes, O,_

_Green grow the rushes, O,_

_The sweetest hours that e'er I spent,_

_Spent them on the lassies, O…"_

Leighton, Beck recalled, had been a Pre-Raphaelite painter, fascinated, like all the other members of that circle, with capturing fleeting moments of intense sentimentality. He would surely have loved this little tableau – the knight, home at last from the wars, with his fair maiden by his side.

On the west wall, two pilasters flanked an exquisitely carved wooden screen, beneath a tiled frieze with verses from the Qur'an. Cat and Robbie were on their knees in front of this screen, playing – Beck couldn't suppress a chuckle – jacks. There were times he truly envied Cat's ability to draw endless joy from the simplest of childish pursuits. Sinjin, as always, stood apart, in a shadow-draped corner, silent and unmoving.

It never failed to amaze Beck how differently two people could react to the same emotional stimulus. Sinjin was every bit as broken as Cat was – perhaps more so, if his condition when they found him on the sidewalk that first awful morning was any indication – but where the little redhead made her pain crystal-clear to the world through almost theatrical outbursts of anguish, Sinjin had withdrawn completely into himself. He spoke – but only if spoken to first, and then in clipped monosyllables; he did as he was told without complaint – but showed no initiative of his own. It was as though some demonic hand had reached into him and scooped out all his vitality, leaving a hollow shell that might crumble at the slightest touch.

"Welcome back, y'all. Good hunting today?" said André, as Tori raised herself into a sitting position.

"Bad choice of words," snapped Trina.

"JAAAAADDDDDE!" The ninety-pound rocket that was Cat Valentine dashed into Jade's arms and nearly knocked her flat. "I missed you so much!"

"Uh, Cat? _You're_ the one who wandered off without telling anybody where you were going – not me. Remember?"

"That doesn't matter anymore, silly. We're back together now! _That's_ what counts!"

"Right, sure, whatever. So, did you just get bored and decide to come back?"

"No," and a single tear appeared at the corner of her eye. "I was far away and alone and scared. But André found me. He saved me."

Looking up over Cat's shoulder, Jade mouthed, "Thank you." André responded with an almost imperceptible nod.

Beck realized someone was still missing. "Where's Sikowitz?"

Hunched over his jacks, chin in hands, Robbie answered, "I ran into him around noon. He said…he said he had somewhere to go. He wouldn't be back until tomorrow. And I shouldn't follow. None of us should. He made that **very** clear."

"Dammit," Beck growled. "Just what we need – somebody _else_ putting himself in the line of fire."

"What's the big deal?" asked Tori. "He'll be fine by himself, unless he does something stupid, like-"

"Like falling down a flight of stairs and breaking his leg?"

"Yes, _thank you,_ Jade." Tori flushed a bright crimson. "All I mean is, there's nothing _dangerous_ out there…right?"

Beck drew a deep breath. The others weren't going to like what they were about to hear – not one bit. "Guys, Trina has something to tell you. Everyone gather 'round, please. I'll light the fire."

By the time Trina finished her tale, dusk had given way completely to the iron grip of night. A waning moon shone amidst a canopy of stars – more numerous and clearer to behold than they had been in centuries, now that they no longer had to compete with the ambient glow of millions of electric lights in the city below. Despite several trips to the woodpile for kindling, and the blankets in which they had all wrapped themselves, the little group was chilled to the bone.

When Trina had fallen silent, Tori, without speaking, rose, hobbled over to her side of the fire, and embraced her tightly.

"Wow," said Cat. "You were so incredibly lucky that you heard that voice warning you."

André nodded. "You've got some good instincts in you, girl. Almost gettin' into Spider-Sense territory there."

"I think it was more than that," Trina said slowly. "I think that warning came from _outside_ my mind. Someone else was there. Someone watching over me."

"Oh, wonderful! So now you're hallucinating monsters _and_ angels! Can you whip me up a unicorn with a saddlebag full of candy while you're at it?"

"Jade? _Hush_." She seemed about to make a retort, but, suddenly realizing that Beck's command hadn't been in jest, pursed her lips tightly instead.

Everyone waited for Trina to make her inevitable angry outburst against Jade – but, to their amazement, they realized she had instead begun to cry. "I'm _not_ hallucinating. I'm _not_ crazy. Please – we're all in danger! You have to believe me!"

"We do," said Robbie. "At least I do."

"We **all** do," said Beck, looking meaningfully at Jade. "And I, for one, hope there really _is _somebody who's got our backs, because we're going to need all the help we can get. We don't even know what this thing that chased you is, or what it wants – "

"To cleanse the Earth."

Sinjin's voice was as unexpected and startling as the crack of a rifle. Beck turned to face him where he stood in the shadows. "What do you mean? How do you know?"

"That's why they came in the first place. To rid the planet of the vile infestation that is mankind. I know – I saw it. They _chose_ me to witness, so that I could become the prophet of their glory."

Beck felt a distinct unease at the back of his mind. "Sinj, buddy, you're not making sense."

"Of course you can't understand. You haven't yet been enlightened like I have. But you will be. You _all _will be. And very soon, too. You see, they're going to finish what they started."

As the flickering firelight swept over his face, his lips twisted into a hideous parody of a smile.

"Hail, purity. Hail, oblivion. Hail, the new masters of the world."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: don't own. Also, this will likely be the last "jumping back in time" chapter; I hope the skipping around hasn't completely worn down your patience.**

_One month earlier: August 19, 7:30 A.M._

Cat Valentine had a hidden talent: since she was a little girl, she had never needed an alarm clock. All she needed to do was to think before she lay down at night, "I need to be up at (say) six a.m.," and her eyes would open at 6:00 precisely. No one – not even Jade, her oldest and closest friend – knew she could do this; and, truth be told, she liked it that way.

Sunlight was streaming through the French windows when she awoke to find Robbie dozing in a chair by her bedside. _He stayed with me all night long,_ she thought, and was filled with a warm glow. _**All night.**__ Just because I got scared of a silly old thunderstorm_.

_I think you deserve a kiss when you wake up, Robbie Shapiro._

She shut her eyes, drinking in the warm sun on her face and waiting for the shrill alarm to disrupt the peacefulness of the moment. _It's too bad we have to go to class today. I mean, stage fighting is fun and all, but it's going to be so beautiful out, and there's so much we could explore…would Sikowitz notice if I sneaked away? Just for a little while? Maybe if I distracted him with a coconut…_

_Shouldn't the alarm have gone off by now?_

She turned herself on her side to look at the clock on the bedside table. The digital display was completely blank. _Weird._ On a whim, she tried to flick on the table lamp. Nothing.

_Oh, no…did the power go out? I hope it's just here and not everywhere in the city._

"Robbie," she said softly. He stirred and mumbled something indistinct, then slipped back into sleep.

"Robbie," she said again, louder this time. His eyes snapped open.

"What? What happened? Are you okay?"

She couldn't help but feel touched that his first instinct was to worry about her. "I'm fine, silly. But I think there's been a power outage."

"Really?" He groaned and rubbed his temples. "Does that mean they won't be serving breakfast downstairs? 'Cause I am _not_ keen on swordfighting with an empty stomach."

"Not to mention nonexistent biceps," came a voice from under the bed.

"Alright, that's _it_, mister. You're staying under there until you learn some manners!"

"Aw, Rob…"

Seeing that Robbie and Rex were thus occupied, Cat slid out of bed, pulled on a terrycloth robe, and went to the French windows that opened onto the balcony. It had become something of a ritual with her to begin each day by looking out over Harley Street, drinking in the morning sun and the symphony of birdsong, traffic, and human chatter that signaled London's gradual rise from slumber.

But, for some reason, the symphony had yet to start today. No cars moved in the streets. No front doors opened or shut. She scanned the trees of the nearby park: her friends the birds were nowhere to be found.

"Um, Robbie? Maybe we should go check on the others. Make sure they're okay."

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure. It's just…so quiet."

She sniffed the air. Normally it carried a distinct tang of exhaust fumes, frying bacon and eggs, coffee and aftershave. Now, there was nothing, except…

_Fire._

She turned to the east and shielded her eyes against the rising sun. Tendrils of black smoke were rising from the area of All Souls Church.

Hurrying back into the room, she snatched her cell phone from the dresser to dial 999. No charge. _But the battery was full just yesterday! _ She picked up the room telephone. Dead. Not even so much as a dial tone.

"Robbie, we need to get the others. **Now."**

They ran up and down the corridor, banging on doors. One by one their friends appeared, most of them still in their sleepwear, greeting Cat and Robbie with looks ranging from mildly puzzled (André) to borderline homicidal (Jade). Sinjin's room, however, stood empty.

Sikowitz was the last to emerge – clad, for reasons at which they could only guess, in pointy-tipped elf shoes and a multicolored poncho. "Well, I don't know about you," he boomed, "but I feel ready to wrestle a grizzly bear! Lead us off on a morning adventure, my little scarlet-tressed pixie!"

They hurried downstairs _en masse_ to the deserted lobby. The reception desk, to their dismay, was unstaffed. Cat dinged the little silver bell frantically. "Somebody? Anybody? There's no power and no phones, and there's a fire outside!"

There was no response. Jade hoisted a fire extinguisher off the wall. "Guess we'll have to take care of this ourselves, huh?"

Their hotel, the Langham, faced out on the old BBC Broadcasting House, a white stone behemoth shaped like a great ship with its prow pointing south. They hurried past it, their tired and unfed bodies protesting vigorously every step of the way, until they could make out the source of the smoke.

A car lay overturned in the middle of the street. Clearly it had been burning for some time; little was left intact except the undercarriage. André and Beck approached as closely as the heat would permit, but could see neither driver nor passengers.

"Shouldn't the police or the fire department have been here by now?" asked Tori.

"Um…maybe they're busy somewhere else?" Robbie pointed to the north. At points all along their field of vision, smoke was rising.

"This way, too." André was looking south, across the river. "There are fires everywhere."

"So, what – did everybody in London get in a car crash at once? And where _is_ everybody, anyway?" No one failed to notice that Jade's hands were shaking as she spoke.

"Children, children. There's no need for alarm. I suggest we stay together and head for the city center. Perhaps we'll meet someone on the way. We could even sing to pass the time! How's about 'We're All Going Calling on the Kaiser'?"

Sikowitz found himself surrounded by blank looks.

"…Perhaps the singing can wait, then."

Without even realizing it, they had formed a classic defensive square, with a vigilant André, Beck, Trina, and Sikowitz surrounding the more vulnerable Tori, Jade, Cat, and Robbie. At first they clung to the sidewalk; but then, realizing that there truly were no vehicles moving in the streets at all, they simply walked down the center of the road. It was a profoundly unsettling feeling.

A fallen bike rested against a newspaper stand. An empty collar and chain indicated the former presence of a dog tied to a tree, but the animal itself was nowhere in sight. Periodically, one or more of the group would yell "Hello? Anyone?", but no answer was ever forthcoming. Every so often another crashed car blocked their path.

They were nearly to Trafalgar Square when Cat heard a low moan. A human figure was curled up on the sidewalk, a mop of frizzy hair atop it, broken eyeglasses beside…

"SINJIN!" she shrieked.

André and Beck helped him to his feet. His eyes were horribly bloodshot and his breathing shallow, but he was conscious.

"Dude, what happened?"

"He…he was going to stab me…but the light…the light saved me. It took the bad man away, but it spared me."

"He's in shock," Beck murmured to Sikowitz.

"Right you are, young Beck. We'd best keep a close watch on him."

They sat down on the steps of Nelson's Column, Cat hugging the still dazed Sinjin tightly. Jade and Beck banged on the door of a nearby Pret a Manger. At last, Jade lost her patience and hurled a rock through the glass of the café window.

"Hey!" cried Tori. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Feeding us," Jade answered calmly, stepping inside and scooping up a heap of pastries from the counter.

"But that's vandalism! And theft!"

"Which would matter – if there were anybody around to steal _from_. But they're _gone_, Vega. Haven't you noticed that yet? _Everybody's_ gone. We're the only ones left."

"But…why?"

"How the hell should **I** know? And why can't you just be quiet for once, Vega?"

"Stop it," said Cat quietly.

"Don't try that 'tough chick' bit with me now, Jade. You're just as scared as I am."

"_No one_ could be as scared as you are."

"Stop it," said Cat again.

"Are you calling me a coward, _bitch?_"

"Coward? Yeah. And useless. And stupid. Did I forget anything?"

"STOP IT! STOPITSTOPITSTOPIT**STOPIT!**" Cat's shriek was ear-splitting. Jade and Tori froze, shocked.

_This is wrong. This is all wrong. My parents. My brother. I'll never see them again…_

"Please don't fight any more." And she began to sob.

Jade tried in vain to soothe her. "I'm sorry, Cat. I'm so sorry. We won't fight anymore. It'll be okay. I promise."

_You're lying,_ thought Cat Valentine. _You're my best friend in the whole wide world, and you're lying to me._

_You and Tori will __**always**__ fight, even if the whole world is burning around you._

_And it will never, ever be okay._


	9. Chapter 9

My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,

Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,

But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,

And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;

For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen,

Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.

-G.K. Chesterton, "The Rolling English Road"

**Disclaimer: don't own.**

_Present Day_

"Hello, my love," said Erwin Sikowitz as he knelt by the grass-covered grave. "I've brought you something."

It had been a hard task assembling a bouquet to his liking. Every flower in the florists' shops had long since withered away, so instead he had roamed the green spaces of the city – Wormwood Scrubs, Regents' Park – and plucked each blossom by hand. It took hours; his hands were grimy and calloused, with dirt under the fingernails, his feet were sore and his back ached bitterly from the constant stooping. But it was worth it. For Vanessa, anything was worth it.

He was relieved to see that her headstone was still upright. The slippery clay that ran beneath the topsoil here was prone to cause grave markers to slip and totter over the years; but Vanessa's stood straight as an arrow in the noonday sun, proud and unvanquished by time, just like Vanessa herself when she came to him in his dreams.

"Sleep well." He kissed the cool granite and, shutting his eyes tightly, traced the deep-cut letters of the headstone with his fingers:

_Vanessa Anne Townsend Sikowitz_

_Born May 1, 1977_

_Died September 19, 1996_

_Those Who Are Loved Are Never Lost_

He still couldn't believe she had said yes to his proposal. Everything about it was madness. He was a twenty-year-old unwashed bohemian-in-training, struggling to make ends meet with community theater productions and occasional spots in used-car commercials; she was nineteen, finishing up her first year of college – brilliant, beautiful, the favorite scion of one of the wealthiest families in southern California. She was better than he in every way – a fact that her father, who hated Erwin with a burning intensity, never ceased to point out to him.

And she loved him. To this day, every time that thought occurred to him, he had to fight the urge to run shouting through the streets: _She loved me! __**Me!**__ Can you __**believe**__ it?_

London was the ideal honeymoon spot. He dreamed of walking in the footsteps of Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, John Dryden, George Bernard Shaw; she, the art history major, was never more content than when she set foot inside a museum. Her father refused to pay for the trip, so she sold her jewelry collection; Erwin still remembered vividly how the old man's neck veins had begun to throb visibly when she told him the news.

London: the world's most wonderful city. Full of color and life, delights and dreams. And yet, not exempt from the blights that infected cities all over the world. Noise. Pollution. Petty crime.

And drunk drivers…

It wasn't fair.

He pulled a grubby sandwich from his inside coat pocket and sat down to eat, leaning against the off-kilter gravestone of one Hezekiah Stern (March 10, 1804 – November 2, 1878, Husband, Father, and Pillar of Moral Rectitude). This was one of the things he most loved about Kensal Green Cemetery: the chaotic hodgepodge of burials past and present, where a soy futures trader who died last month and an aristocratic cavalryman who fell in the siege of Sebastopol could lie cheek-by-jowl in perfect contentment. It was a perfect echo of the wildly mismatched, but unbreakable, union he and Vanessa had forged.

The sandwich having been wolfed down (he had only just now realized how hungry he actually was), he stabbed a straw into a small box of coconut juice and sipped it thoughtfully. No one but he knew that he actually disliked the taste of coconut.

It had been _her_ favorite, though.

He wondered idly whether the kids had bought his rather ridiculous cover story about searching for a "coconut depot". Probably they had. After all, to them he was just eccentric Sikowitz, flitting through life like a drunken butterfly. He never took anything seriously. And emotional attachments? What a ridiculous thought. No one at Hollywood Arts even knew that he had once been married.

Part of him regretted lying to them. But he couldn't have borne it if anyone had followed him here. Soon enough he would return to his duties as leader – he had sworn to himself that he would keep the group together and safe, no matter what it took – but he had needed to do this alone.

Maybe, when he died, he would ask them to bury him here.

A small pile of brownish-orange leaves beneath a nearby oak suddenly began to stir. As if caught in an eddy, the leaves whirled, one by one, up into the air, and were lost from sight.

_But there's no wind,_ he thought.

A smell assailed his nostrils – acrid and fierce. Then a crackling noise, like heavy boots treading on tinfoil, arose where the leaves had just been swept away.

He rose slowly, letting the juice box slip from his hand into the grass. "Is somebody there?"

_Run, Erwin Sikowitz. Run for your life._

"Who said that?"

_**Run,**__ you fool._

"Show yourself, dammit!"

_Don't question – obey._

"I don't like taking orders from invisible voices, and _I'm not leaving my wife!_"

A sigh: _Too late._

An indistinct shape appeared before him – tall and green, ringed with purple lightning. Keeping his eyes on it, he edged toward the gate.

Another shape materialized, blocking his exit.

He took off running blindly, and promptly tripped over a fallen headstone. Soft dirt poured into his nostrils and mouth as he struck the ground heavily, face first.

Hacking and coughing, he raised himself up and wiped his stinging eyes. There was a third shape now. They surrounded him, each only a yard away, forming an equilateral triangle. A tendril of light began to unfurl from each.

_I'll see you soon, Vanessa._

Three snaps at once; three strikes at once; and what had been Erwin Sikowitz became a cloud of disjoined atoms, swallowed up by emptiness.

The obelisks had no mouths, nor vocal cords; but they could communicate perfectly well, by exchanging information packets in the form of light waves. They flashed one word to their controller: _Done._

And it flashed back:

_Good. _

_One down. _

_Eight to go._


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Don't own.**

A tense atmosphere pervaded Leighton House. It was nearly evening on the 19th, and Sikowitz had yet to return. Sinjin refused to explain his bizarre outburst of the previous night, saying only that he must have been "confused". Tori couldn't help but feel that he was studying her, and everyone else, whenever they turned their backs, with the emotionless detachment of a scientist eyeing algae through a microscope. While he was off bathing in the nearby ornamental pond that morning, the others quietly agreed not to leave him alone from then on, and not to give him access to a weapon unless it was absolutely necessary; Robbie accompanied him on his daily vigil in Bethnal Green, which, apparently, had passed without incident.

They gathered around the fire.

"Sikowitz has been gone too long," said Tori. "I say we send out a search party. If we find him safe and sound and he gets pissed at us for going against his wishes, so be it."

"You know," remarked Jade, who was busying herself cutting up the curtains with a pair of scissors, "I hate to state the obvious, but you wouldn't be coming along."

Tori gritted her teeth. She knew that losing her temper wouldn't help anything, but that didn't make keeping it any easier. "What's your point?"

"My _point_ is, you're advocating sending other people out into the night to face god knows what kind of dangers, while you stay here, all warm and cozy."

"Do you have a better plan?"

The Goth was silent.

"That's what I thought. Let's take a vote. All in favor of sending out a search party, raise your hands."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Do you really want this to be a _democracy,_ Vega? 'Cause I can pretty safely say that's not going to work. We need a clearly defined command structure if we're going to have any hope of surviving, and that means picking one leader to take charge in Sikowitz's absence."

"And that would be?"

"Beck, of course." She squeezed her boyfriend's hand as he blushed and fiddled with his collar.

"Why Beck? Why not, say, André?"

"Or Robbie," Cat piped up.

"NO!" They all (Robbie included) shouted in response.

"Look," said a distinctly uncomfortable Beck, "We can resolve this later. For now, I think Tori's right. Some of us need to go look for Sikowitz. I'll take Trina, Jade, Cat, and Robbie. André should stay with Tori. Sinjin, why don't you…Sinjin?"

He was nowhere to be seen.

Everyone but Tori got to their feet, seized candles, and peered into every nook and cranny of the house, with no success. Sinjin had simply vanished.

"Well, crap," said Beck when they reassembled. "Guess we're looking for two people instead of one now. We'd better gear up and get going."

"André doesn't need to stay with me," Tori broke in. "I'm not a _total_ invalid, you know; I'll be fine on my own."

"Sorry, _muchacha_, but this is one item that isn't up for debate. I'm not leaving you this time." André squeezed her shoulder, and, in spite of the terrible danger she knew they were all in, for a moment she genuinely thought she had never been happier in her entire life.

With grim efficiency, Beck handed out flashlights and walkie-talkies. "We'll be back as soon as we can. Stay safe, guys."

They hustled out in single file, leaving Tori and André alone in the hall.

"Are they…are _we_ going to be okay?"

"Not to worry. I've been saving something for an occasion like this," said André, and began to rummage through the supply closet. After a moment, he emerged. In one hand was a taser. In the other…

Tori gasped involuntarily. "A _shotgun?_ Where did you get _that?_"

"It was in a shed behind one of the houses I was searching for supplies. I thought it might come in handy at some point."

"Is it loaded?"

He broke open the double barrel, dropped in two shells, and snapped it closed. "It is now."

With great care, he laid the two weapons down beside her. "Okay, Tori, listen carefully. I'm going to make a sweep of the grounds. I'll be back in ten minutes. If something shows up while I'm gone, don't hesitate. Shoot _anything that moves_."

"But shouldn't you take one of the…"

Reaching into the closet again, he withdrew a baseball bat studded with nails. "I'll be fine."

Checking on her one last time to make sure that she was comfortable underneath her blanket and had the shotgun and taser within easy reach, André went out to patrol the grounds of the house, leaving Tori deep in thought.

/

When Tori told people "My dad's a cop," she knew very well what they imagined: a Dirty Harry-like badass, walking the streets with revolver always in hand, gunning down bank robbers and kidnappers and drug dealers like ducks in a carnival gallery. The truth was far different. In fact, in his twenty-two years of outstanding service with the LAPD, Juan Miguel Vega had discharged his weapon in the field exactly _once._ It was a day she was unlikely ever to forget.

She was only eleven at the time. Walking into the house after she came home from school, she heard voices in the kitchen.

"Well, you said yourself, you didn't have a choice. There's no point in beating yourself up about it."

"I didn't have a choice, but that doesn't mean I have to _like_ it."

"What did the Captain say?"

"On the record, I'm on desk duty until they can 'clarify the conditions of the incident'. Off the record, I'll probably get a commendation – for whatever _that's_ worth."

"I swear, Juan Vega, you're the only man in the world who can turn committing an act of heroism into a reason to mope."

"I'm home!" Tori called.

Her father emerged from the kitchen. She had never in her life seen him look so tired. The spark in his eyes had been, if not extinguished, thoroughly dulled; and he moved as if each step were a fresh ordeal.

"What happened, Dad?"

"…Sit down, Tori." He patted a couch cushion; she took a seat obediently, her heart in her throat.

"I…I had to shoot someone today."

"You didn't…kill him, did you?"

He buried his face in his hands. "Yes, sweetheart, I did. He was hurting a woman – he had a knife to her throat – and I was afraid that if I didn't do something…" He trailed off.

"So you stopped a bad guy. That's what you're supposed to do, right? I mean, are you sorry?"

"Am I sorry I shot him in particular? No, not really. I looked at his rap sheet later; he…he was a monster. But I'm sorry I had to shoot anybody at all."

"I don't understand."

"Sorry, sweetheart. I know I'm not making any sense. Just…can you please promise me one thing?"

"Sure, Dad. Anything."

He turned to her and took her slender hands in his. "Tori, baby, I wish I could protect you and your sister every moment of your lives. God knows I do. But…when you're older, there may come a time when I'm not there, and you have to…protect yourself. And I want you to do whatever it takes. But if that time does come, just remember…killing a person, even an evil person, changes you, forever. It's not something you should do lightly. And you should never, _ever,_ treat it as a game."

She began to cry. "Yes, Daddy. I promise. I'm so sorry about what happened to you."

He embraced her. "Do you realize you haven't called me Daddy since you were six years old?"

/

Tori looked down at the shotgun in her hands. _You're being silly,_ she told herself. _Those things aren't human, by any stretch of the imagination. You don't know that they're intelligent. You don't even know that they're _alive_. _

_But then, you don't know that they're _not_, either._

Trying to calm herself, she focused her attention like a laser on a purple candle that stood before her, slowly dripping wax that pooled in its metal holder. The dancing flame was beautiful, hypnotizing. It swayed from side to side like a pendulum, in an ever-increasing arc…

No. It was the _candle_ that was swaying. The candleholder was vibrating, as if struggling against the pull of two opposing magnets.

As she watched, fascinated, all the candles began to sway in the same fashion.

_How in the world…_

She heard an anguished cry from the garden.

"André!" She shoved the taser in her left jeans pocket and picked up the shotgun with both hands. Forcing herself to stand, ignoring the streak of pain that lashed through her leg from ankle to thigh, she hobbled toward the front door.

The moment she touched the knob, she screamed and jerked backward. It was searing hot. The entire door, in fact, radiated swiftly increasing heat – and it was glowing as well, with the glow brightest at the edges. Almost as if it were being…

Welded shut.

_I'm trapped._

A crackling sound arose behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **_**Victorious**_** belongs to Dan Schneider; "Road to Nowhere" belongs to the Talking Heads (and frankly, they can **_**have**_** it).**

**(And yes, I will resolve the cliffhanger from last chapter…but not until the **_**next**_** chapter. Heh heh heh…)**

The compact car crawled through the darkened streets at fifteen kilometers an hour. Beck rarely spoke; his hands remained rigidly fixed to the wheel. In the seat beside him, Trina scanned the sidewalks for any signs of movement that might be caught in the glare of the headlights, silently praying to God to keep Tori and André safe back home. Jade, Cat, and Robbie were jammed tightly together in the back seat, which was doing their mood no favors whatsoever.

"So, Beck," said Robbie, "Remind me again why you couldn't have chosen, you know, a van? Or an SUV? Or a freaking _double-decker bus?_ We've got our pick of every vehicle in London, and you jam us into a rolling _sardine can!_"

"More fuel-efficient," Beck replied, never taking his eyes from the road. "We've got no way to replace gas once we use it up, remember?"

"No worries, babe. I'm pretty sure we could power this car with just the strength of Robbie's B.O."

"Well, excuse me for living, Ms. Jade 'Hasn't Bathed Since the Summer Solstice' West!"

"You think I'm going to make like the rest of you and roll around in a _koi pond_, Shapiro? That's just one step above a hog wallow."

Cat put in meekly, "My brother fell into a hog wallow once…"

"Did the hogs eat him?" Jade asked.

"Um, no."

"Then I'm not interested."

"…Poo."

They were passing through one of the less engaging parts of the city. Dreary council estates hemmed them in on all sides, the monotony broken only by the occasional fast-food restaurant or vacant lot. Two hours had already gone by, and they had seen neither hide nor hair of Sinjin or Sikowitz.

Rex began to sing: "We're on a road to nowhere / Come on inside / Takin' that ride to nowhere / We'll take that ride…"

Jade tore the puppet from Robbie's arms and dashed it against the door handle, dislocating its jaw.

"HEY! What the HELL was that about?" Robbie cried. "Rex could SUE you for that, you know!"

"Okay, first? There are no more lawyers – or barristers, or solicitors, or whatever the hell they have over here. And second? It's a _puppet_."

"He's not-"

"YES! It IS a goddamn puppet! It's a lifeless piece of wood that you use as a mouthpiece because you're too messed up in the head to cope with the real world on your own!"

Robbie's lower lip trembled. He tried to form words, but nothing emerged from his mouth save for pitiful, incoherent squeaks.

Cat moved protectively toward him. "Don't be mean, Jade. If Robbie thinks Rex is real, then-"

"No. Robbie doesn't have the luxury of lying to himself anymore. It's time for him to grow up. Do you hear that, Shapiro?"

"Jade, calm down-"

Even Beck's influence wasn't enough to curb the tirade on which Jade was embarking. "It's time for _all _of us to grow up. This isn't a game, and we're not kids anymore. No one's going to bail us out if we get in trouble. We keep on screwing around like we have been, and we're going to get killed. Simple as that. Am I the only one who understands this? Tell me I'm not."

There was silence in the car. No one wanted to agree openly with Jade, but the basic truth of her words was painfully clear to them all.

As they rolled past a little strip mall consisting of a curry shop, a locksmith's, and a day-care center, the headlights abruptly shut off, plunging them into blackness; and scarcely half a second later, the engine sputtered and died.

"What the…?" Beck turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. He tried again, then a third time, with no better luck.

"Guess that's it for our search," muttered Jade.

"Well, we _could_ break out the flashlights and try our luck on foot, but I don't think it would be terribly productive," Beck replied. "Probably better just to wait until morning."

"Um – maybe we should take a vote." Trina understood Beck's line of thinking, but she felt an instinctual revulsion to the idea of sitting in the car and doing nothing while Sikowitz could be in mortal danger. "All in favor of staying-"

_Trina Vega, __**duck.**_

"DOWN!" she yelled, with such terrible urgency in her voice that they all reflexively obeyed.

An energy tendril whipped through the car at what had been their head-height, neatly shearing off the upper body and sending it crashing to the pavement. The chill night air flooded Trina's lungs.

"SCRAMBLE!" cried Beck. They leapt from the car and dived for cover.

Trina had never been more thankful for her martial arts training, for the first lesson her sensei had drilled into her was how to take a fall. Tucking her head in, she let her shoulder take the brunt of the impact, then rolled over and over sideways until she was clear of the line of fire. Once she had ensconced herself behind a rubbish bin, she carefully peeked around the corner.

The energy-things were everywhere, flailing about madly. At least half a dozen blocked the street at each end. She couldn't see any of her friends, but she hoped her warning had given them the chance to survive.

It was time to retreat, she knew. She hated leaving Beck and the others in the lurch, but there was no way she could fight all these monstrosities alone and unarmed; even trying to cross the street and reach the shelter of the strip mall would be a death sentence. Besides, if the things had been able to track them here, they might also have located the group's home base; and if that were true, Tori and André would need all the help that they could get.

What would be the quickest way to reach-

_THUD._

A heavy object struck the back of her skull. She fell to the sidewalk, her vision swimming. Reaching behind her head, she felt a tangle of blood and matted hair.

_Must…stay…conscious…have…to…_

The last thing she saw before the world went black was a grinning face topped by a mound of frizzy hair.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: if you haven't figured out by this stage of the game that I don't own **_**Victorious**_**, I **_**weep**_** for you. I truly do.**

**For those who are curious, there'll be three more chapters after this one (or, more precisely, two chapters and an epilogue). Oh, and that whole "No more skipping back and forth in time" bit that I mentioned earlier? In the immortal words of the Cyber-Leader from **_**Doctor**__**Who**_**, "That was designated: a lie."**

_Two hours earlier – Leighton House_

Tori Vega was well and truly trapped. To her rear, a welded door; before her, one of the obelisk-things Trina had so vividly described, advancing with obviously homicidal intent. There was no way André could come to her aid in time – if he was still alive. Certainly the howl of pain she had just heard didn't bode well in that regard.

She shook her head violently. _No. Mustn't think like that. Mustn't allow myself to lose hope._

_Okay, energy monster from Mars or whatever you are – let's find out whether you're bulletproof, shall we?_

She fired one barrel into the dead center of the thing. The recoil thrust her violently backwards and the bang stung her eardrums, but she managed to stay on her feet. The buckshot scattered behind the creature and struck the far wall, sending down a shower of plaster.

A hole appeared in the obelisk, of a much lighter and paler shade than the jade coloring that dominated its surface. Within the hole, waves of light rippled outward from center to edge, like a pond when a stone is dropped into it.

_Did I do it? Did I kill it?_

The hole began to solidify and darken.

_Shit. It's already healing._

_But I've bought myself some time._

Her only hope was the second floor. Without power, the elevator was useless, so that meant the stairs. It was not a prospect she relished. Clutching the banister with her left hand so tightly that the blood drained from her knuckles, the gun tucked under her right arm, she began pulling herself up step by agonizing step.

When she was halfway to the landing, the creature finished repairing itself and began to pursue again. She was stunned to see that, rather than simply following her up the stairs, it levitated, vanished from sight, then reappeared in the air six inches higher, over and over again – as if it were climbing its own, invisible staircase, with calm implacability.

Her panic told her to keep going to the top of the stairs, but her rational mind realized that she would never outrace the thing. There was only one option. She stopped, spun, and fired the other barrel.

Her aim was off this time, and she only grazed the creature's flank; but it was enough to halt the thing once more. She dropped the shotgun and resumed her flight, half-walking, half-dragging herself onto the landing.

_Okay, I'm out of firepower now – but I'm not out of options. Not yet._

The creature materialized behind her. Without thinking, she seized a painting of an elderly man from the wall of the small antechamber she had entered and hurled it at the thing, then hobbled into the studio and slammed the door shut.

…_That was a _Tintoretto_ I just used as a discus, wasn't it? Oops._

Lord Leighton's studio was a long, sparsely furnished hall that during the daytime enjoyed bright sunlight through a row of windows on the north wall; now, it was lit only by a few candles, which scarcely sufficed to illuminate the stacks of cans and bags of flour that Jade and Beck had piled all around the room. In the days before the Vanishing, it had still been used by artists from time to time, with the special dispensation of the house's managing committee; the only signs of this now were an incongruously modern glass enclosure at the far end, and a great turquoise-painted metal screen adjacent to it behind which models could change in privacy. She stumbled toward this and concealed herself.

A scythe of purple energy sliced the door in two, and the creature entered. _Why did it need to do that?_ She wondered. _Couldn't it just _teleport_ in?_

_Unless…unless it's trying to intimidate me._

_Well, if so, it's sure as hell working._

Her trembling hand went to the taser in her pocket. She doubted it would do much, given that two rounds of buckshot at point-blank range had proved only a minor inconvenience to the creature; but it was her last hope – and she couldn't hide forever.

She could see the creature's reflection in the glass wall behind her. It hovered six feet away, unmoving – waiting.

_Yep. It's _definitely_ trying to mess with my head. It's just going to wait there until I finally crack and come crawling out, begging for death._

She felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. _I'm coming out, all right – but I won't be on my knees. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die _fighting.

She eased herself to her feet, still hidden by the screen.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

With a scream that would do a banshee proud, she whirled around the edge of the screen and fired the taser.

The twin probes buried themselves in the midsection of the obelisk and discharged their crippling voltage. To her amazement, the entire body of the creature promptly began to shudder and waver. The purple lightning arcs that had been circling it vanished; its lethal front tendril, which had just begun to emerge, shrank to a stub, then was completely absorbed into its bulk.

She kept up the voltage. The obelisk was becoming unstable, cracks appearing in its jade façade…

With a blinding burst of white light, the creature vanished entirely.

For a moment, Tori simply gaped at the empty space where the thing had been, not even lowering the taser. A slow smile crept onto her lips; then at last she threw restraint to the winds and gave a joyous whoop.

"**YES!"**

As if in answer, a shout came from outside. She looked down into the moonlit garden.

André was pinned against a row of hedges by another creature. His left arm hung limply at his side, blood dripping from a horrific gash that ran the entire length of his bicep and halfway down his forearm; but he still clutched the baseball bat in his right hand, and he was whipping it from side to side with reckless abandon.

"You want a piece of me, you alien son of a bitch? Come and get it!"

There was no time to find a way out of the house. Not hesitating even for a moment, she pulled off her shawl, wrapped it around her right hand several times, and punched the window glass, shattering it. André looked up, startled.

"Use this!" Tori cried, and tossed the taser to him through the broken window. In one smooth, graceful motion, he dropped the bat, caught the taser one-handed, turned, and fired. Like its partner, the creature shuddered, fissured, and exploded into light.

"Holy shit! I think you've found their Achilles' heel, Tori!" cried a jubilant André. He raced for the back door to the house.

By the time he entered the studio, Tori had managed to hobble back to the other end of the room. Her leg throbbed more violently than ever, her hand had not escaped several cuts from the glass, and her sternum still ached from the shotgun recoil.

_But dammit, I'm _alive.

They locked eyes.

"You're hurt pretty badly, 'Dré," said Tori.

"You too, _muchacha_."

"We need to get you some bandages."

"And you need to lie down ASAP."

A pause.

He seized her with his right arm and pulled her close; she wrapped her arms around his muscular torso. Their lips joined.

It was nearly fifteen seconds before they could bring themselves to pull apart.

"Okay, what's our next step?" she asked.

"We need to get to the nearest police station and stock up on as many tasers and stun guns as we can," he answered. "Then I'll go find the others."

"You mean, _we'll _go find the others."

His jaw dropped. "You have got to be freakin' kidding me. You're not in any condition to-"

She placed her finger on his lips. "Sorry, babe, but this is one item that's not up for debate."

She could sense the internal debate raging in his mind. "…All right, fine. But you stick close to me at all times. Got it?"

"Yes, _sir._" She gave him a mock salute.

He chuckled. "Okay, then. First, we get bandaged up. Then, it's time to go be heroes."


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: don't own.**

**A brief chapter, by way of transition. It'll be the next chapter that the you-know-what truly hits the fan.**

Robbie had never been so frightened in his life. In an instant, the silent little street in the East End had been transformed into a forest of green obelisks and whirling, glowing scythes. The roof of their car had been sheared clean off, and if not for Trina's uncanny instincts, their heads would have followed suit.

He crouched in the shadows on the doorstep of a curry shop as the creatures swept up and down the street; he would have killed for better cover, but none was to be had. Fortunately, everyone had made it out of the car safely, so far as he could tell. Everyone except…

_Rex. I left him in the back seat._

Going back to get him would be sheer madness; Robbie knew that. But he couldn't abandon his closest friend to be torn to shreds by those things. He would have to make a break for it.

As he watched for an opening in the swarm of obelisks that surrounded the maimed vehicle, Jade's earlier words suddenly echoed in his mind: "It's a goddamn PUPPET!"

A lie. It had to be a lie. Didn't it? Jade was bitter and cruel, he told himself; lacking happiness herself, she couldn't abide it in others, and would go to any lengths to extinguish it. She knew Rex was his psychological weak spot, and she had moved to exploit it with characteristic deftness. He had to block her mocking voice out. Rex's life depended on it.

_-_What _life? A puppet doesn't breathe, or move, or speak on its own. You _make _it live. Jade is absolutely right – you use it as a repository for your repressed emotions; it shields you from a terrifying world._

_-More lies. I have to go get him now…_

_-Leave it._

_-_Him_, not _it_!_

_-__**Leave. It.**_

A gap had finally appeared, as two of the creatures moved off to comb the alley behind the council estate at the end of the block. If he sprinted, he could avoid the whipping tendrils of the handful that remained and reach the car, then pull Rex out and make it to the rubbish bin on the other side of the street. But if he was to have any chance of succeeding, he had to go now.

Right now.

_Now, dammit…_

But he didn't move. He was frozen – not from cowardice, but from inner doubt.

_I don't want to make the wrong choice. I don't want to die for a block of wood. I want to live, to help my friends – my flesh-and-blood friends. They need me._

And then a voice whispered inside his mind – not Jade's sarcastic tones, but a voice of infinite calmness and self-assurance, a voice that evoked his instant trust:

_Time to grow up, Robbie Shapiro._

There was a glint of movement down the block. One of the obelisks spun to lash out at it, but was too close to the car; its tendril pierced the gas tank.

A ball of flame rose into the night sky, leaving a twisted hunk of metal behind it.

Robbie, to his astonishment, did not weep. He did not scream Rex's name. Instead, he merely felt a dull ache in his chest; and even as he watched the dancing flames and the wisps of smoke, that ache diminished into nothingness.

He focused his attention on the matter at hand. _There has to be a way to fight these things. What I wouldn't give for a firearm right now… _He did have a hunting knife, but hand-to-hand (or, rather, hand-to-tendril) combat didn't seem likely to have a positive outcome, even if there had only been one creature, rather than a dozen.

_At least I can distract them for a little while. Maybe that'll give the others a chance to get to safety, if they haven't already._

He laid his hand on the hilt of the knife and prepared to draw it from its sheath.

A sudden screech of tires and blaring of a car horn startled him, stopping him in mid-motion. A Land Rover swung around the corner, moving so fast that it careened onto the sidewalk and struck a hydrant with its rear tire. It came to a halt blocking the intersection diagonally; André, whose left arm was in a makeshift sling, leapt from the driver's seat, while Tori, her right leg in a splint, lowered herself to the pavement from the passenger's side. They advanced toward the creatures, which moved into a tight mass to confront them.

_This is insane,_ thought Robbie. _They must have a death wish._

As they came closer, he saw tasers in André's left hand and in both of Tori's.

_What good can _that_ possibly do?_

They began to fire. The creature at the forefront of the mass, hit by three blasts at once, lasted not even half a second before it disappeared into light.

…_Oh._

The battle was hopelessly one-sided. Obelisk after obelisk exploded as André and Tori advanced the length of the street. Seizing the opportunity, Beck, Jade, Cat, and Robbie himself broke from cover, then armed themselves from the cache Andre had assembled in the back of the Land Rover and joined in the assault.

Almost as soon as the fight had begun, it was over. Silence and darkness descended on the block once more.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but god_damn_, is it ever good to see you, Vega." Jade shook Tori's hand.

Tori grinned and spread her arms wide. "How about a hug?"

"Don't push your luck."

Robbie realized that Cat had silently moved beside him and taken his hand in hers. "Do you miss Rex?" she asked, in her soft, melodious voice.

"…I miss being a kid."

"Me too."

"Trina, you can come out now!" shouted Beck.

There was no response.

_Oh, no._ Robbie's heart sank. _We can't have lost somebody else. Not when we just won our first victory._

Beck looked frantically this way and that. "Did anybody see where she went?"

"I think she was hiding behind that garbage thingy," Cat replied.

They searched behind the rubbish bin. Jade pointed to a dark stain on the sidewalk: "Fresh blood."

"Oh, God," murmured Tori.

"Relax, Vega. It's not nearly enough to come from a serious wound." Jade's voice was as sharp and snarky as ever, but, Robbie could not help noticing, all semblance of color had drained from her face.

Beck bent to examine a shoeprint in the mud nearby. "Is it just me, or does this look like…"

"Sinjin's," nodded Jade.

"Okay, so he took Trina," said Robbie. "But where? This is a huge city, and we can't possibly search it all in time before he does…whatever he's planning on doing with her." He didn't care to speculate any further.

"Um, maybe we should start by looking over there?"

They followed Cat's pointing finger with their eyes.

Several blocks to the northeast, a vast column of swirling light and fire shot into the heavens, piercing the clouds and drowning out the stars.


	14. Chapter 14

**Behold, the penultimate chapter, also known as "How many lame science fiction tropes that were already horribly overused fifty years ago can I possibly cram into a story at one time?"**

**Disclaimer: don't own. Never **_**have**_** owned. Never **_**will **_**own. So help me God.**

_Fifteen minutes earlier_

_The throbbing…God, make it stop…_

At first Trina could make out nothing but gradations of light and dark. Eventually her eyes focused enough to distinguish blobs of color; then, at last, lines began to straighten and shapes were clarified.

_Where the hell am I?_

_I know I'm sitting in a chair…_

She tried to rise, but could not.

_Correction. I'm _tied_ to a chair._

_What happened? The last thing I remember is…_

"SINJIN! Show yourself, you little bastard!"

But there was no one. Sighing, she began to examine her surroundings carefully - then blinked in befuddlement.

_Am I dreaming? 'Cause all I'm seeing is…_

_Dollhouses._

It was true. On every side of her – some in glass cases, some standing in the middle of the floor – were dollhouses of every size and description. Some were of finely wrought wood and looked centuries old; others were cheap steel and plastic assemblages that might have been made yesterday. Tall red letters on the wall boldly proclaimed: "V&A MUSEUM OF CHILDHOOD PRESENTS: THE HISTORY OF PLAY, 1600-2000".

Something nagged at the back of her mind. The place itself was strange enough, but there was something else wrong – something fundamental that didn't make sense. Though her head still ached, she struggled fiercely to marshal her thoughts.

_Wait._

_The lights are on._

So far as they had been able to ascertain, every power plant in southern England had shut down on the morning of the Vanishing. Battery-operated devices were similarly affected, but most of them (including, thankfully, car engines) had eventually resumed functioning; not so the power grid, which was entirely inoperative.

_So how can there be power here?_

She looked at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling above; despite the brightness of the room, they themselves were a dull gray, their characteristic hum absent. _Okay, the illumination's not coming from them. Where, then?_

"Isn't it beautiful how he brings light to us all?" Sinjin stepped out from behind a display case filled with wind-up toys.

Trina began to struggle against her bonds. "What are you talking about, you little weirdo? _Who_ brings light to us all?"

"The Controller from Beyond, of course," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's through his gift alone that you're still alive, you know. Well, that – and my intervention on your behalf."

"Okay, you're sounding even more insane than usual. Why don't you back up and start at the beginning?"

A strange glow flooded into Sinjin's eyes. Iris and pupil vanished into a swirling field of green and purple. When he spoke again, his voice was tinny and laced with static, as if the words were being broadcast over a PA system. "The miniscule intellects of you fleshbags annoy me to no end."

" 'Fleshbag'? I'll have you know I'm a size 4, and – you know what? Screw it. Let me go right now, and maybe I won't beat the living _crap_ out of you later!"

"_You_ presume to command _me_, woman? I shall make you _burn_." A fiery aura, of an almost unbearable brightness, appeared around Sinjin's body. He advanced toward Trina.

"Um, actually, I, uh, I may have spoken out of turn there. Why don't you just calm down, and we can start fresh, okay?"

The aura disappeared, followed, a moment later, by the strange light in Sinjin's eyes. "You know, you really shouldn't antagonize the Controller, Trina." His voice, too, had returned to normal.

"Is he…_speaking_ through you?"

"I am his chosen vessel, yes."

"What…what does he want, exactly?"

"Purity. All organic life forms must be burned away, so that he may feed upon the energy they produce at the moment of their destruction. That's why he crossed into our dimension."

"But…there are still plants, and insects."

"Oh, the cleansing process is never perfect; the last times he carried it out – what we call the Permian-Triassic and Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction events – some lower life forms survived as well. His chief goal this time was the elimination of humans, and he succeeded: six billion lives devoured in one glorious instant. You see, Trina," and he reached into the attic of a dollhouse to withdraw a small porcelain figure of a child, "This is how he sees humanity. Insignificant specks, to be crushed-" he dropped the figure to the floor and stepped on it – "for his pleasure. Everyone is a mere speck to him – everyone but me." He beamed.

"Look, I don't mean to rain on your – I mean, his – parade, but…the human race_ isn't_ extinct. We 'specks' weren't killed. Did he just…I don't know…miss? Or what?"

In the space of an instant, the terrible aura, glowing eyes and distant voice returned. "I cannot explain how you vermin survived - but it makes no difference. Those whom I could not consume at once, my agents will destroy. Already one of your number is dead. More will follow swiftly."

_Sikowitz. No._

"Why am I still alive, then?"

The entity vacated Sinjin again. "Because I asked the Controller to spare you! Become his servant like I did, and we can be together forever!"

She found a sharp edge on the back of the chair, and began surreptitiously to saw the ropes that bound her wrists against it. _Got to buy time._

"So, he doesn't control you completely, then."

"No – I serve him freely."

"If that's the case, then the Sinjin I know is still in there somewhere – the Sinjin who wants nothing more than to be friends with everyone."

"That…that doesn't matter anymore. The Controller is the only true friend I've ever found. He's the only one I'll ever _need_."

"You call him your friend even though he pulls your strings like a puppet?"

"What? I told you, I serve him _freely_."

"Until he decides to hijack your body on a whim, you mean." The ropes began to fray.

"Being his vessel is an _honor!_ Why can't you understand?" Did she detect a note of uncertainty in his eyes?

"I understand wanting to feel special. It hurts, feeling like people look down on you, like you'll never be good enough. What I _don't_ understand is why you consider it an honor to be used as an instrument of death."

"Death…death is for the greater good…" He lowered his head.

"Really? Look me in the eye and tell me that you truly believe that." _Only a couple of strands left…_

"I…I can't…"

The Controller returned, his accompanying aura brighter and more ferocious than before. "You seek to muddle the man-fleshbag's mind, woman. I only let you live so that he would remain compliant – if you wish to instill disobedience in him, then your existence ends now."

"Sinjin, FIGHT! You're NOT a killer! This is NOT what you want!" _Almost there…God, help me…_

The aura faded. "Trina? I don't want to do this, I swear I don't. But he's making me…"

It brightened. "Worthless trash! Do as I order!"

Faded. "Please, Master – let her live…"

Brightened. "If I wish her to die, SHE DIES!"

Her hands came free.

The aura faded once more. "Trina, he's going to win…I'm so sorry…"

"Me too, Sinjin." She leapt from the chair, seized it by the back, and swung it around in a great arc. It struck Sinjin full in the ribs, sending him crashing backward into a dollhouse. Tiny furniture and tiny people clattered to the floor. When he tried to recover his balance, she landed a right hook to his jaw, then unleashed a powerful roundhouse kick to his chest. He sprawled on the ground and did not rise.

She took off running. _Got to find an exit. Got to get to the others…_

The building began to shake violently. Trina lost her footing and stumbled, barely catching herself on her hands before her head could strike the floor.

Sinjin was standing…no. Not Sinjin. Not anymore. The swirling light had entirely possessed his body. He threw his head back and roared, a horrific, animalistic cry of rage.

A pillar of light blasted upward from his body and blew a gaping hole in the roof.

In a voice not even remotely human, he bellowed, "I SHALL NOT BE DEFIED! DEATH TO ALL ORGANIC FILTH!"

_Okay, this is seriously bad._

The tremors would not allow her to keep a foothold, so she began to crawl on hands and knees. The glass in the display cases shattered; fluorescent lights came loose from their fixtures and toppled, narrowly missing her.

"COME, MY CLEANSERS! ATTEND ME! TEAR THIS IMPUDENT FLESHBAG INTO ATOMS!"

Footsteps pounded on the floor below. She looked over the railing, to see Tori, André, Beck, Jade, Cat, and Robbie hurrying up the central staircase.

"Trina! Hold on!" Her sister cried.

"CLEANSERS, DESTROY THEM ALL-"

"I'm guessing you didn't get the memo, dude," said André, aiming his taser grimly at Sinjin's chest. "Your 'cleansers' are gone. Seems they have a little issue with electricity. And I'm betting you do too."

A smirk appeared on the possessed Sinjin's face. "You will not triumph so easily. The voltage you would need to harm me is far greater than any one of your feeble weapons could produce. If you discharged them all at once, you _might _have a chance – but I doubt this meat-thing I'm presently occupying would survive the experience."

André froze. The group looked at one another hesitantly.

"As I thought. You are too weak to kill one of your own. What feeble creatures you are-no! Be silent, meat-thing! I am speaking! Be gone!" He clutched his head as if in pain.

For one brief moment, Sinjin's blue eyes peeked through the green and purple glow.

"Do it." The voice was his own. "Do it, please. Set me free."

"God forgive me," murmured André. "FIRE!"

A dozen tasers discharged at once into Sinjin's glowing body. The Controller roared again; but this time fury had been replaced by desperation – desperation and fear. The pillar of light contorted into a funnel and began to whirl madly about its axis.

"We're gonna run out of juice!" Jade cried.

"Just a little longer!" Beck shouted back.

"EEEEAAAAAAAGGGGGH!" The being's aura had turned a bright red. So hard was the building shaking now that Trina genuinely thought the Earth was about to split in two.

The pillar vanished. A blast of whiteness radiated from Sinjin's body in all directions. The group threw their hands over their eyes in a desperate attempt to avoid being blinded.

When at last it was possible to look again, they saw nothing save the teenager's crumpled form, barely covered by the charred remains of his clothing.

Silence.

"Is he…?" asked Cat.

Trina knelt and felt for a pulse. "He's gone."

She closed his eyes.


	15. Chapter 15  Epilogue

**Well, it's been fun, hasn't it? Many thanks for the reviews, favorites, story alerts, etc.**

**Disclaimer: haven't we been over this already?**

_Epilogue_

_September 2014_

_Valley of the River Severn, Gloucestershire_

Trina Vega sat on the slope of a hill and listened to the lowing cattle in the valley below.

She felt a twinge of guilt for taking this rest; everyone else was hard at work in the fields. Even Tori, despite being eight months pregnant and roughly the size of a dirigible, insisted on helping with the sowing, much to André's dismay.

In a month, Trina would be the only one of the group still childless. The idea had been broached (not without awkwardness) by Tori in the last council meeting that she should consider taking a lover in the interest of increasing the gene pool – Robbie, presumably, as she had never felt any real attraction to André or Beck. Cat claimed that she would have no objection to such an arrangement, and that all that really mattered to her was the good of the group; but Trina could see the pain in her eyes every time the subject was discussed, and so she swiftly banished the notion from consideration.

It didn't matter much in any case. Trina harbored no illusions about what their little band could really hope to achieve. Repopulating the Earth, the goal for which they all professed to strive, was a remote prospect indeed. They might be able to sustain humanity for a few generations, but barring a miracle, excessive inbreeding and the hazards of a primitive life would eventually spell doom for the species.

Then again, the fact that they themselves were still alive could easily be called a miracle in its own right.

Perhaps it wasn't time to give up hope quite yet.

_Indeed it is not, Trina Vega._

She started. That voice – though she hadn't heard it in three years, she recognized it instantly.

"I thought you'd left us."

_I am still watching over you._

And, somehow, she knew it to be true.

As she watched from afar, Cat and Jade laid down their spades, sat by the riverbank, and dipped their toes in the water. Robbie Junior, nearly two years old now, totted over to his mother, who hugged him. Beck, fresh from the plough and drenched in sweat, brought Joan (named, naturally, after Joan Jett) strapped on his back; he and Jade shared a quick kiss, then she opened her shirt to nurse the baby.

"It hurts to be alone," said Trina.

_You are not alone, Trina Vega. Your friends are by your side always._

"Yes, I know, but…I wish I could have had the chance to share my life with someone special."

_We all wish for that chance, but the universe is not always just. Sometimes the chance never arises; sometimes it is granted and then just as quickly snatched away. Whatever happens, we must persevere._

"…Who _are_ you? God? An angel? A saint?"

Softly, almost imperceptibly, the voice chuckled. _None of the above, child. Just call me Vanessa._

And it was gone.

A hawk circled on the air currents above. The Vanishing had indeed been far from complete, at least where animals were concerned; and nature, as it is wont to do, was steadily making a comeback. Their herds of cattle and sheep were thriving; there were plenty of fish in the streams now, and Cat had glimpsed a doe with a fawn in the Forest of Dean not too long ago.

_The world goes on; and so will I,_ she thought.

_Time to get back to work._

**END**


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